The first time his body slid into the icy water at Blue Marsh Lake, Sean M. Scalesi rescued himself.

Seconds later, the firefighter backed into the hole in the ice again - this time so someone else could save him.

Lying face-down on the ice, his rescuer, Gerry M. Harmer, inched toward Scalesi, whose head and red gloves were still visible above the slippery edge.

Once at the ice hole, Harmer slid in herself and secured Scalesi to a harness. She then tapped her yellow helmet, a signal to on-shore rescuers to pull the rope and bring them both to safety.

Then it was my turn.

Newly outfitted in a red dry suit with lobster-claw-like hands, I stepped to the frozen shore.

I'd obsessed all week about this moment. I'm not a strong swimmer, I'd told my friends and colleagues. What if something goes terribly wrong? I had what I call "day nightmares" about it.

But I didn't freeze up at the shore. Strangely, I was grinning ear-to-ear. I felt vacuum-sealed, warm. A little invincible, too: I was surrounded by emergency personnel.

Nearly 20 of them - firefighters, park rangers, search and rescue team members and others, plus one copycat reporter - spent Sunday immersing themselves into the icy lake, learning to rescue themselves and others from ice.

Two by two, the members of the ice rescue emergency response class donned dry suits, inched on their stomachs across the ice toward holes cut with a chain saw and slid feet-first into the lake.

From the water, they practiced pulling themselves out of the water with ice awls, or pieces of wood with nails.

I compare this part to horizontal rock-climbing. Even though I had help from my buoyant suit, I have no doubt I'll feel the effects of my self-rescue efforts later.

The class members also practiced rescuing others, which involved securing their "victims" in harnesses so both of them could be pulled to the shore.

Class coordinator Robert J. Stichter said he's rescued six people and recovered many bodies in the 20 years he's done ice rescue and recovery. He's a full-time firefighter for Reading and teaches ice and water rescue classes for the Pennsylvania Fish and Boat Commission.

Asked which element - fire or water - is the more formidable opponent, Stichter said water.

"My feet are generally on solid ground (when I fight fire)," he said. When in water, "I'm at the mercy of the water. When I go out on the ice, I'm at the mercy of the ice.

"It is very difficult to get yourself out of the ice."

If you cannot get out - and you're not in a dry suit - it's only a matter of seconds before hypothermia sets in and a matter of minutes before you go unconscious and drown, Stichter said.

"You're dealing with freezing-temperature waters and once you fall in, you will get that sudden shock," he added. "It will literally take your breath away."

Scalesi, a firefighter and fire policeman with the Spring Township Fire Department, was the first to venture onto the ice Sunday afternoon.

He said he felt very nervous about his ice rescue debut.

"I'm not really nervous that I'm going to die," said Scalesi, 29, of Sinking Spring. "I'm just nervous that I'm going to go under. I know I'm with four professionals (instructors), but it freaks me out."

Sunday's temperatures were below freezing. But the bitter cold kept the ice strong. As I crawled across it, it didn't crack, and thanks to my dry suit, I felt warmer in the lake than I did out of it.

Scalesi told me his friends and family said he was crazy, that it was too cold outside to take a dip in the lake.

"But I said, 'Hey somebody's got to do it,' " he said. "If everybody has that mentality, who's going to save the person in the lake?"

For Harmer, a member of the Greater Philadelphia Search and Rescue team and a resident of Jenkintown, Montgomery County, taking the class was a personal challenge.

The same is true for me. I broke the ice with ice rescue and lived to write about it.